


Homo Sapiens domesticus: Freight

by femme4jack, fractalserpentine, HopeofDawn, Sakiku



Series: Domesticus [8]
Category: Transformers, Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Sex, Anal Sex, Confined/Caged, M/M, Multi, Other, Tentacles, Unconventional Families, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-26 14:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme4jack/pseuds/femme4jack, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalserpentine/pseuds/fractalserpentine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeofDawn/pseuds/HopeofDawn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakiku/pseuds/Sakiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When taking your human between planets, Tower Iacon suggests following these helpful tips: </p><p>-Before booking, please ensure that your human meets all medical and quarantine requirements for interplanetary transit.</p><p>-When you comm to confirm your ticket, make sure to request the stellar transport company's policy regarding crates for organics.  </p><p>-for short stellar jumps, withdraw food and water one joor before loading, to reduce the chance that your organic will foul its crate.  </p><p>-during longer flights, a water dispenser and small feeder tube should be affixed to the crate.  Consult your xenoveterinarian regarding optimal fuel mixtures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The rape/noncon archive warning is for the overall themes of this story-verse, which is neck deep in consent issues. We'll continue to use this archive warning on every installment due to the nature of the story-verse. This particular installment contains references to rape, torture, addiction, and a whole lotta explicit-fluffy-cityformer-xeno-mech-luv.
> 
> This section also contains... Seaspray, whom we imagine looks something like this when underwater in his root mode.
> 
> <http://cat-meff.deviantart.com/art/Diving-Suit-338438462>

Even before Perceptor sat down and told them were they were going, all three of them knew something was up.  Laboratory 'technicians' came and went, always so hesitant and cautious the first few times, but quickly warming with a little attention.  First Aid came to visit twice, once accompanied by a strange mech who carried other mechs *inside* his chest. The little guys were a lot of fun, and Sam was sad to see them go.

They'd looked almost like people, too, which was nice.

All the visitors helped to break up the monotony.  Perceptor and Shockwave had their heads together most of the time, it seemed, plotting something.

And then Perceptor told them exactly what they were planning.

Trent didn't believe it, even as he grew more lucid; Sam was just mad he hadn't been told earlier.  Miles was thrilled.  They all pestered laboratory technicians to help them pack and repack the most valuable pieces of Cybertronian technology.  And all too soon, their gear was being loaded onto a shuttle, and from there, to the ship that would take them home.

 

\-------

 

Miles craned his neck back... and back.  “Woah,” he breathed.  
  
The ship was an enormous shell, a vast oblong that could have comfortably housed six stadiums -- maybe even more, stands included.  Huge, angular support ribs made it feel like Miles was standing inside some enormous creature.  A drift of distant stars were just visible through the nearest of the... windows, or whatever they were -- long slashes like open gills, each sixty feet tall.  The main level was an enormous open space, tall enough for even the biggest mechs to stand easily.  Through the grating underfoot, Miles caught glimpses of crates, stacked in unimaginable depth below.  And above...  
  
Oh, my.    
  
There was a mech up there, cradled in straps the size of cranes, fragile slings suspending unimaginable bulk.  Like the unholy cross between a trilobyte and a sea serpent, it was segmented, scaled, haloed with fins that seemed tiny but were surely twenty feet long.  It was like something from a movie, too huge and too complex to ever be real.  Shades of aquamarine and teal and deep bruise violet ghosted over its plating, a pattern as deliberate and slow as the tidal pull of an endless sea.  The mech stretched the full length of the ship, nose to stern, and was almost as wide.  
  
An eye the size of Miles’ entire torso focused on him, then blinked.  The mech had dozens, and not just on its front.  Or at least, Miles thought this end might be the mech’s front -- a shield-shaped arc bigger than a house.  Perspective did funny things on a scale such as this.  Every one of the mech’s eyes was azure, an aching, cerulean blue, inwardly illuminated.     
  
“Hail, Oceanus,” Perceptor trilled, glyphs laced with all the modifiers of respect properly used when addressing cityformers and their kin.    
  
Perceptor did not expect a response from the massive research and refueling platform.  Oceanus was far from the largest of his kind -- albeit the largest capable of being transported like this -- but once he was fully unfolded into his planetside form, he could easily house several dozen standard-sized mecha or more.  Plus his own fleet of distillers, of course.  With regal deliberation, the Atlantusformer gave a subtle, gracious nod of his cranial segment and blinked his primary optics.    
  
Oceanus was destined for Earth as part of Vos's claim, based on their previous scientific survey, as protector and agent for the oceans and the ice-bound continent on its southern pole.  The newsfeeds were abuzz with rumors that Vos had filed a claim on the upper portion of the troposphere and all the atmospheric layers above that as well.   The ocean claim was bold, and had the remainder of Cybertron's city-states in an uproar due to the application’s unusually fast approved by the Lord Prime.  But the atmospheric claim was even more audacious, as it would enable the citystate to lay a tariff upon any exports that traveled through its territory -- or it would if the claim held up in the legal challenges that were certain to follow.  
  
"Hello," a warm, friendly voice spoke from behind Perceptor, in clear American accented English.  The strong field that politely brushed Perceptor's and then withdrew indicated a very large mech, but when Perceptor turned around, he found a small, barrel chested aquatic minibot, fins swept up high behind his back.  He was only half again as tall as the two humans at Perceptor's feet; the crest of his helm barely came to the top of Perceptor’s thighplates.  One of Oceanus's Distillers, without a doubt, his oversized spark large enough to power a mech six times his size.     
  
"My designation is Seaspray," the Distiller said, folding himself down to be even closer in height to Sam and Miles, transmitting a greeting glyph to Perceptor to include him, though making it obvious that it was the humans whom he wished to address.  
  
Perceptor heard Trent stirring in the soft padded carrier where he'd been resting.  Shifting his secondary optics to the pod, he saw Trent lying on his side and looking down.  The largest and most aggressive of Perceptor's humans had his eyes locked on the scene below, tiny fists balled up with his usual protective intensity.  Perceptor's spark spun a bit faster in relief at seeing Trent displaying normal behavior rather than the feverish lethargy that had dominated his behavior.  At least he was awake and aware, improving steadily -- and while he fought treatment, he’d yet to tell Perceptor no, even when asked.  It had been... a stressful few orns.  For both of them.    
  
"Woah!  You're not much bigger than that Blaster-guy's little dudes," Miles exclaimed, stepping forward.  Of course, small was relative, when dealing with mechs.  Seaspray was far more stoutly built than a cassette, but his fingers were as long and spindly as Perceptor’s.  
  
"God Miles, have some tact," Sam said through gritted teeth, before also taking a step forward.  "I'm Sam, this is Miles, our big guy up there is Perceptor, and the one in the pod-thing is Trent."  
  
"I offer you greetings on behalf of Aegis Oceanus and our entire cohort," Seaspray said, his expressively mobile faceplates offering a smile that was almost more human than mech.  Perceptor thought it likely that Seaspray had already modified his appearance in anticipation of their new home.  "Oceanus, and the rest of us, are very curious about Earth's dominant land species, and delighted that you are sharing this journey with us."    
  
“It’ll be good to get home,” Miles said, smiling back.  
  
“Do you know anything about what’s been happening there?” Sam asked a little wistfully, though his brow was furrowed with worry.  “I mean, have things fallen apart even more?  Have countries gotten back on their feet?”  They must’ve been gone... for what?  Six years?  Eight?  A lot would’ve happened in that time.    
  
Seaspray tilted his helm.  “I am sorry, Sam.  I do not know these things.  However, locating and aiding human populations, and correcting any environmental imbalances, will be among our first priorities.  Societal imbalances... will probably be beyond our purview.”  
  
Sam nodded slowly.  “But... you’re going there for the same reason that, uh, ‘Iacon’ did?  To take more people offworld?”  He did his best to keep his tone carefully neutral.  It wasn’t like they three could do anything about it, especially not with Trent in this condition.     
  
“It is possible,” Seaspray agreed, “but any such arrangements will take time.  By the terms of our agreement which permits us to trade with your race, we may not remove humans from your planet at all until populations recover, or there are very special circumstances.  And Vos prides itself on the fairness of its agreements, not just the wording, so we want to make sure that any humans truly understand the consequences of being taken offworld.”  
  
Sam nodded reluctantly.  They certainly weren’t going to get many ‘volunteers’ if they did explain everything truthfully.  
  
“That’s great,” Miles piped in with his customary enthusiasm.  
  
Sam was not as optimistic. There was still that big ‘if’. If they explained things. If they were truthful. If they were fair.  
  
Sure, Percy was a nice guy, and Seaspray seemed so, too. Even Shockwave kind of was, in his freaky purple Japanese “I’m gonna stare at you with my one eye like I’m visually dissecting you” scientist way. But the other robots? The one they’d been with before Percy and before they’d been moved to the extra-fancy room to be used by all kinds of mechs -- he’d been cold. Just... uninterested in the fact that the three of them were living, sentient beings, beyond making sure they were fed and watered and not damaged too much. And none of them had forgotten what he’d ordered to be done to Trent.  
  
He wanted to believe Seaspray that those in Vos were different, but well. He couldn’t quite get past that ‘if’.  
  
He snorted to himself. Then again, maybe they really would do what they had promised, explain stuff to everyone so that everyone knew. After all, they’d just have to wait until those who remembered what Earth was like before the robots, were dead. Maybe not even that long. And then people might find it normal to be treated like high-end sex toys. He still couldn’t wrap his head around how Percy was accompanying them to Earth to spend the rest of their natural lives with them, and treated it as nothing more than... than a short *vacation*.  
  
  
\-----------------------  
  
  
Miles kicked his heels back and forth, feet dangling over the edge of the elevated walkway.  It was nice up here, refreshing to be as tall as the mechs.  Talking to their knees just wasn’t the same.  The one who looked like a bumblebee was even worse -- how did you properly address a dude’s groin?  Always left Miles blushing.  He smiled and looked up as a small mech approached -- at least he could talk to Seaspray’s sternum.  “Hi again, Seaspray.”  
  
“Hello, yourself.”  Seaspray levered himself down to sit beside the warm little human.  
  
“I met a couple of your friends.”  Including some who were colored almost exactly like Seaspray but definitely didn’t have the same names -- God, that had been embarrassing.  He watched for different configurations of fins and other small details, now, not just color.    
  
Seaspray voiced a sound almost exactly like a chuckle.  “So you did.  My cohort-mates were pleased to meet you as well.”  
  
“That means you’re all part of the same family, kinda like brothers?” Miles asked, interested.  Seaspray nodded.  “So... how many of you guys are there?”  
  
“Eighteen.  I was his first, but as Oceanus added more components, he changed roles, and needed more distillers.”  
  
“Huh,” said Miles, trying to process that.  “So... he’s like a seahorse?  And you’re all... his babies?”  
  
Seaspray reset his optics.  Then rebooted them for good measure.  “Well... I don’t believe so, no.  Tell me more about these aquatic ungulates?”  
  
“Not mammals -- they’re fish, I think.”  Miles spread his hands, demonstrating the size.  “Mostly pretty small.  The male keeps all his babies in a pouch, though, keeps them safe, until they’re big enough to be on their own.  So, I thought, yanno... since you go inside as well....”  
  
Seaspray purred his amusement.  Oceanus, it seemed, was not the only observant creature aboard.  “We distillers will not grow any larger.  Oceanus provides us safety, yes, but we usually return to deliver the resources we collect.”  
  
“Collect?”  
  
Seaspray nodded.  “We harvest energy from our environments, and process it into the forms Oceanus needs.  Some of us specialize: Littoral likes to cling to stony bottoms in tidal zones, or the undersides of ice floes, where he harnesses wave energy.  I’m something of a generalist -- I can harvest energy by basking in sunlight, or by breaking down certain atoms I come across, like mercury.  Or I can bring the mercury directly to Oceanus, if he needs it to repair or expand.”  He studied the little organic, not certain if his terminology was too complicated for Miles.  
  
“Huh.  That sounds useful.”  Miles didn’t seem to have much trouble processing the information.  “So you gather the energy and then deliver it... by going inside?”  
  
Seaspray nodded, then tilted his helm a little.  “Want to try it?”  
  
Miles choked.  “I... uhm.  I don’t have anything to give him, though.  I mean, won’t he be mad?”  
  
Seaspray chuckled.  These humans were really fantastically charming creatures.  "Far from it. You are curious about Oceanus, Oceanus is curious about you.”    
  
“Oh.”  Miles tilted his head back.  They were almost thirty feet off the main floor like this, high enough to peer down on most mechs below and look the rest in the eye, but Oceanus was suspended another thirty feet up or more.  He seemed even more vast like this, an angular aqua sky.  “Do you have my, uhm, environmental specs?  I still need to breathe and stuff.  And I squish pretty easily.”  
  
Seaspray smiled and tapped his chestplates.  “Got them right here.  Not to worry -- Oceanus is very gentle, and very careful.”  
  
Miles bit at his lip.  “You sure he’s ok with this?”  
  
"Very sure.  How about you, Miles.  Are you 'ok' with it?"  
  
Miles skin became flushed.  "Sort of depends on what 'it' is."  
  
Seaspray leaned back on his hands.  “Slipping into an Aegis’ alveus is a pretty incredible experience.  He’s always warm, and the inside is lined with protometal - very soft and sensitive.  He’s got as many chemoreceptors and field sensors inside each cavity as he does on his whole exterior surface - helps him monitor us and make sure we’re functioning well.  Most Aegismecha aren’t nearly as big as Oceanus, and don’t have alvei like he does.”  
  
“So, uh... he tastes you?” Miles asked, squirming a little, skin flushed.  He put his hands in his lap.  
  
“In a manner of speaking,” said Seaspray thoughtfully, “but more intimate and exploratory than that?  I’m not sure.”  He shrugged, wishing he was more familiar with exactly what kinds of things a human could sense.    
  
“So... how do you give him the resources you collect?”  
  
“Aegismecha have siphons,” said Seaspray easily, though his faceplates spread in a gently wistful smile.  “Oceanus has a pair of them in each alveus -- they link our systems, and allow me to deliver whatever he needs.  He... usually doesn’t deploy them when exploring other species, though.”  Seaspray sounded apologetic.  “Maybe you want to take a closer look first?  I was headed to him, myself, before I spotted you.”    
  
Miles brightened.  “Yeah, that’d be really good.  I mean, if I wouldn't be in the way or interrupting something..." his voice trailed off.  Even though they were designed for an aquatic environment, Seaspray's chemoreceptors could easily taste what he assumed was Miles's arousal.  While Seaspray’s arousal took a very different form, it was something he could certainly identify with.  There was nothing quite like Oceanus's field, and the humans, it was reported, were quite field-sensitive in their aroused state.  Oceanus, for his part, had always enjoyed it when the little organics of their watery colony had explored his nooks and crannies.    
  
“Not a bit,” Seaspray smiled easily.  “We do this all the time -- usually under hundreds of fathoms of water, of course.”  He stood and offered a hand.  The human’s fingers wrapped neatly around one talon, like the grip of a hatchling, almost unbelievably charming.  “Or leagues?  Kilometers?”  The dictionary file wasn’t clear on earth’s measurement units, which seemed to differ depending on what one was measuring.  
  
“Fathoms is right, I think.  A league is, like, a really long ways....” said Miles, following along at Seaspray’s side as they climbed the rampway higher.  Almost every part of the mechs’ architecture was built so that one could either walk or drive on four wheels.  That meant nice wide rampways, which was good, because the whole concept of ‘guard rails’ seemed to have escaped the machines.     
  
“Wow,” said Miles softly, as they passed by one on Oceanus’ guidance fins, now tucked close to his underside.  “Can I....?”  
  
“Of course,” Seaspray said, and watched with amusement as the little human reached to stroke his soft hand along the radial spar.  This small fin was meant for stabilization and fine motor control -- it was three times Miles’ height, and just as wide when the pearly interlocking links of it were spread.  Even still, the little human touched the limb as if it were delicate, fragile.  Oceanus probably didn’t even register the contact -- his external plating had few pressure sensors, unlike his alvei.  “You can press harder, he won’t break,” Seaspray smiled.  When Miles finished indulging his curiosity, they continued upwards, until the massive plates of Oceanus’ underside were just overhelm.  The Atlantusformer’s field was like an ocean itself, swirling around them, so strong it tugged at metal like a caress.  
  
With a series of quiet clicks and hisses, Oceanus opened an alveus for them.  Mechanisms unfolded, swinging a section down, like unhinging a jaw.  Helpfully, Oceanus opened himself wider than usual for them -- in rough seas, Oceanus might present just enough of an opening to wriggle into.  Now, sheets of metal moved in a precise, smooth cascade, opening up a pocket-like space about the size of a standard berth, slightly rounded, padded invitingly with the silver of protometal.    
  
Seaspray watched Miles shiver.  “Are you alright, Miles?” he asked gently.  
  
“Yeah,” said Miles, rubbing his fingertips together where he’d touched Oceanus’ fin.  “Just, uhm, tingly.  So then what happens?”    
  
“In the water, I usually just swim right in,” said Seaspray.  “But on land like this --” the distiller reached up to steady himself, settled a hip on the rim of the alveus, and carefully swung his legs inside.  A distiller had to be careful in order to dock without a cushion of buoyant water around him, but it could be done.  Seaspray stretched himself out on the padded surface with a vented sigh of relaxation, the chamber flexing to cushion him.  There was nothing in the world quite like the embrace of one’s Aegis, internal mechanisms adjusting to cup the whole length of his chassis.  Even without the link of siphons, he could feel the powerful scans, sense his coding adjusting itself to read Oceanus’ needs.  Just this contact was fundamentally satisfying -- was the very function for which Seaspray had been created.    
  
“Huh,” said Miles, watching closely as the darkened space enfolded the small mech.  Oceanus, Miles couldn’t help but note, had left a cupped space just beside Seaspray, about the size of a human, if he didn’t mind wriggling a little.  All the tiny lights and glowy spots across Seaspray’s body -- all the mechs had them, though they were pretty subtle in direct light -- illuminated the hollow in a quietly dancing glow.  The bottom lip of the pocket was chest-high to Miles, like some kind of a suspended sleeping tube.  Weird, sure, but comfortable-looking, and refreshingly enclosed compared with all the wide-open spaces of the ship.   “What’s....” he reached out to run his fingers over the silvery padding of the alveus, and gasped aloud.       
  
Seaspray offered his hand.    
  
It took next to no effort for the distiller to hoist him up, strength carefully held in check as to not damage the human. Which would be so easy, fragile as they were.  
  
And then Miles was sitting on the edge, and he barely swallowed a nervous giggle. If he let his imagination run wild, it would almost be... The padding felt strong and firm, yet gave when he pressed against it. But it was dry instead of slick, even if it was warm and radiated the same energy that made his stomach tingle.  Hardly knowing what he was doing -- just that he wanted *more* -- Miles slipped off his shirt and pants, and left them on the grating below.    
  
Carefully, he crawled further inside, until he could nestle into the hollow that obviously had been shaped for him. His heart was pounding, his chest pressed against Seaspray, his back against the silvery stuff of the much, much larger mech. Oceanus.  
  
“And now?” he asked breathlessly. The tingles were deliriously strong, running up and down his body, making his hair stand on end.  Almost as strong as when Perceptor did that thing he did with his cables.    
  
"Will it bother you if Oceanus closes us in?" Seaspray asked, a hint of static in his vocalizer.  "You'll be able to take off your rebreather, if you'd like."  
  
"Y-yeah, I'd really like that," Miles said, his face splitting into a grin.  It wasn't just taking off the rebreather, thought that was nice enough.  Even wrapped up with Sam and Trent, underneath a pile of microfiber cloths, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt cozy and enclosed - a feeling he'd craved for as long as he could remember.  It seemed somehow appropriate that his first taste of that sensation since leaving Earth would be within the most massive mech he'd ever seen.  The ultimate blanket fort.  
  
A multitude of tiny segments filled in the gap that opened the alveolus to the outside, like silver glitter filling a jar, or a veil of sand, shifting faster than his eyes could follow. Fully enclosed, the hollow was far from dark.  The silver surrounding him was traced with patterns of swirling light, like pearlescent, wispy nebulae.  Seaspray's frame cast its own glow, a hundred jewel-like lights shining like stars from his body.  It was quiet here too, peaceful, without a hint of the metal-clanging background noise that pervaded any space that mechs inhabited.  
  
Miles unhooked the hated apparatus from his nose, taking in a deep, unfiltered breath.  The air was wonderfully humid, and smelled, just faintly, of alien oceans.  He put the rebreather into Seaspray's waiting hand, who made it disappear into wherever the heck mechs stored things.  (The stuff Perceptor pulled out for them sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere!  It had become a game to Miles to ask Perceptor for the oddest things, just to see what would magically appear...).  
  
"So..." Miles said, looking around, his hands reaching up a little more boldly to stroke the silver around him.  He could feel Oceanus rumble in response, a deep vibrating purr.  "Oh wow," he threw back his head as a jolt of something amazing traveled up his arms and legs and took up residence right down to his belly.  The sensation was almost enough to mask the rising tide of feeling, rising up from every place his skin touched silver.     
  
Seaspray smiled, mobile faceplates moving.  “Just an exploratory scan, Miles.  Our last planet had organics as well, but they were not so complex as you.  Your respiratory processes alone are exquisite.  So many systems fit together, all regulated by such simple molecules.  Truly a marvel.”    
  
“Uh, thanks, I think,” said Miles, grinning despite the distraction of rippling sensations over his skin, of arousal that seemed to have taken up residence in his very core.  “W-what was your last planet like?”  
  
“Arquitex?  The water was very salty, and covered in a thick layer of ice almost everywhere.  Very little lived in the upper layers, but down below there were just these thousands of hot vents....”  
  
That must have been nice. Hadn’t Seaspray said he collected energy and minerals for a living? If Arquitex was in any way similar to Earth, it must have been a veritable feast. Speaking of Earth... “You had those glow-in-the-dark fishes as well? S-saw a documentary on them when I was little, and they’re really deep down in the ocean where... where there’s no light.”  Miles swallowed, tried to focus.  Which was pretty much impossible, with Oceanus doing... whatever he was doing.  “The water’s all black down there, and then suddenly there’s a squid or jellyfish that’s got glowing dots and lines like some artist decided to outline its tentacles with neon tubes. Beautiful.” He hesitated a bit. “Kind of what your plugs look like.”  
  
“You think them aesthetically pleasing?”  
  
The plugs or the deep sea fish? “Yeah,” Miles nodded to both.  
  
Seaspray chirred his quiet delight.  “I am certain I will find your planet and its inhabitants aesthetically pleasing as well, Miles.  Particularly if many of them are like you.”  Slowly, Seaspray spread his spindly fingers over Miles’ flank and side, feeling the smooth skin there, the subtle bumps of rib-struts laced beneath.  Seaspray had regretted leaving Arquitex and all its many curious organics, some of them well on their ways to developing rudimentary language. He still missed the planet to a degree, but these new organics proved to be an entirely new level of fascinating.  
  
Oceanus thought so too, apparently, to judge by the wealth of scanned data he generated and shared with his distillers.  “May Oceanus enclose you a little more?” Seaspray inquired hesitantly, not certain how Miles would feel about being in a tighter space.  “He will make sure you have plenty of space to breathe.  All the atmosphere here interferes with some of his scans.”  
  
At that point, Miles probably would have agreed to be eaten alive, he was so hard.  Would it be rude to grind up against Seaspray?  It probably would.  Oh God.  The mech’s gentle, exploratory touch wasn’t helping anything, either, and he could *feel* it whenever Oceanus switched to a different scan, each one a new wave that rocked through him.  “Uhm... yeah, no problem, I mean -- eep!”  The silvery metal cradling him did more of that shifting-glitter thing and began flowing around his feet and shins.  Whatever it was, it felt as liquid as a warm bath, and yet he could hardly wiggle his toes. Was that what mercury would feel like?  
  
He looked at Seaspray, and while he couldn’t see over the bulk of the mech’s torso he could see the same thing happening to him. Seaspray had relaxed all those plates that made up his skin, allowing the grainy not-liquid to slip into gaps as broad as Mile’s hand. It slowly crawled across both of them in a combination of reverse crumbling sandcastle and slime monster. Except that it wasn’t slimy at all and tingled with static electricity until Miles thought he was going mad.  
  
Way too slowly, the stuff filled in around his thighs, pressing insistently between them.  The silver was buoyant, and wonderfully warm.  And then it lapped over his cock.    
  
Miles choked on a sound that was midway between a squeal and a gasp, legs jerking, body flexing as if he’d just come but he hadn’t and oh God, he had to touch himself Right Now.  Rudeness be damned!  But his fingertips skidded across the advancing silver metal that now enfolded him -- so soft on his body, but hard as steel and impossible to reach through, to give himself that final squeeze and attain release.  And his hips hardly moved, he couldn’t even push himself against Seaspray, or, or *anything*, just --  
  
The enveloping silver stopped, and dimly, Miles heard the smaller mech, felt hesitant fingers stroke his hair.  “Are you alright, Miles?”  
  
“Oh God.  Y...yes, but I.... oh please let me come, I --”  Oceanus did something that felt like the fine-grained silver around him had become ten thousand fingertips, all moving, touching every part of him.  Under his balls, stroking around the rim of his cock, exploring his toes and the backs of his knees and.... all just a little too firm to tickle, just a little too soft to let him come and he was going to have an aneurysm or something because his hands kept moving like he couldn’t stop them but he couldn’t touch himself and....  
  
“Aah, you are aroused,” concluded Seaspray, sounding relieved.  “Oceanus is very arousing.”  He purred his own bliss as the Atlantusformer enveloped him.  He eagerly cycled open the port at his back for his Aegis’s siphon when Oceanus pinged him the request.  But... it wasn’t just one request.  Oh my.  
  
“Miles....” began Seaspray, stroking the human’s hair back from his forehead, the distiller’s own port twitching in sympathy as Miles sobbed, tried to writhe against Oceanus’ strength.  “Oceanus reports that you have a port which can accommodate a siphon.  Would you like for him to penetrate you as well?”  
  
The feel of the organic seemed to change with that question, something odd.  A sense of... potential?  It was strange, for organics scarcely had a field to begin with at all, just the faint, drab flush of functioning cells with their own chemostatic charges.  But this... this was something different.  Seaspray had never felt its like -- as if his own glowing field, closely contained within Oceanus, now flowered over alien terrain.  How utterly novel!  Oceanus sensed the organic’s eagerness too.  The frantic clutching of Miles’s hands against Seaspray’s chest, the little human’s whimpered “Oh god, yes!” were nearly superfluous confirmations.  
  
// _Enter Miles first?  I will monitor him closely,_ // Seaspray purred to his Aegis, who agreed.  
  
The massaging metal around Miles’s hips began to stir.  He sobbed, fingers scrabbling, unable to finish himself, just clinging to Seaspray.  “Please, please --” he gasped, and then felt something nudge between his parted cheeks.    
  
Something big, blunt, that parted the silver substance and moved through it, something even warm and somehow... electric.  It wasn’t the same as the silver substance, had more form and shape, even if it flexed and moved almost as freely.  Oh God, it was like a tentacle, just nuzzling at the well-stretched rim of his ass, twisting, teasing the ring open.    
  
Miles panted hard -- there was only a bubble about four feet across of atmosphere, centered around his head, but the air never went stale.  Not that Miles would have noticed if it had.  He tried to shove himself back, to impale himself on that teasing length, and went absolutely nowhere. “God yes, please put it in me please please....”  
  
“So eager,” Seaspray murmured, and the tip pushed inside.    
  
It was smaller than a mech’s cabletip, somehow alive, flexing and twisting inside him.  He was still slick from his earlier use by Perceptor and some of the others, but this -- the siphon was so smooth, it flowed more than thrust.  “Oh, God -- yes!” Miles gasped as more slid inside, electric ripples massaging him, pushing over his prostate.  He was so close, so near to coming from this alone --a dozen times, he nearly came, but each time the grip around his cock seemed to ease.  And still he couldn’t move his hips, couldn’t touch himself.    
  
Miles sobbed, body jerking, flexing.  And the slow creep of silver advanced once more, the tide lapping up over his belly, his chest.  For all the liquid flow of the silver, it was like being encased in warm iron.... if there were any kind of iron that flexed for breath but not for movement.  Another handspan pressed inside him, maddeningly sweet, thicker now while the tip flexed and turned and moved deeper.    
  
Seaspray still stroked his face, crooning a sound like the sea over sand, but he could hardly feel it as another length moved inside him.  Oh, God -- it was longer than any mech he’d taken, just pushing up inside him and there was still more, pressing between his thighs, flowing inside.... Miles’s cock jerked hard, he could feel it seeping, feel every brushing stroke of tiny metal fingertips drawing on him.  Sucking at him, almost, so fucking sweet--!  
  
“P-please... Sea, I need, need it--”  
  
“What do you need?” Seaspray purred, his own chassis flexing with pleasure as Oceanus found the rim of his own eagerly-open port, just between his shoulderblades and a little lower.  Oceanus loved to tease him, just wait a few moments, his siphon barely pressing between the wide-open callipers.  
  
“--electr -- ah! Oh, yes!”  Miles panted hard.  “I-interface packet, please....”  He cried out as another thick length eased inside him.  God, he was more full than he’d ever been; the siphon just always pushing in more, spooling up inside, his body rippling around it.  The siphon was already alive with vibrating charge, balancing him on edge, driving him mad, but it wasn’t, he needed.....  
  
Blinking, Seaspray conveyed the strange request.  Oceanus obligingly threaded a few transmission lines through the mass of his siphon, and then pushed a packet of charge over the impaled hardline.    
  
Miles howled.  And a field flared up around him, folding out in petals in every color a mech could sense -- a marvelous, a heady field, exactly the right frequencies to arouse charge in any Transformer.  Impossibly dense with interference patterns, chaotic and fiery, it shattered the input charge and reflected it back in an incredible wash of sheer bliss.  
  
Seaspray had assimilated all material he could find about human electromagnetics, and how they only developed a field when charged to the point overload.  He’d never imagined it might be like this.  
  
The wave encompassed him.  But it *swept* Oceanus.    
  
There was little warning. The sudden overload of the Atlantus-former caught everyone by surprise, as the wave of concerned com-chatter attested. In an enclosed space ship, nothing could shield a discharge of that size.  
  
Seaspray didn’t catch much of what they were saying. Oceanus’s fields were *singing* in those low frequencies that carried around a planet in aqueous seas, and Seaspray was right at the focal point. The harmonies vibrated through his struts, the alveus’ protometal was the perfect medium to carry the modulations.  Oceanus’s siphon finally breached his fuel chamber, and to the music of the Atlantus former’s resonance and the human keening beside him, he tipped over into white-hot bliss, his long fingers still stroking the little organic.

 

===============

 

 

"New orders for this bunch," Onslaught announced, making a rare appearance in the sorting room Vortex was prepping rather than communicating by comms from his office.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Apparently some of the merchandise have been expiring for unexplained reasons, usually when their owners are away for more than a few orn.  They leave them with plenty of fuel and water, but come back to a foul-smelling decomposing corpse and no signs of a violent demise or rebreather failure.  They're demanding refunds for flawed products.  We're to keep this group here and find out why this is happening, and attempt to correct the flaw if possible."  
  
Vortex tilted his helm.  Was that....?  Oh, yes it was.  A sweet little shiver of excitement, building anticipation a coil in the pit of his spark.  Or at least relief from relentless, aching boredom.  Training the humans in transit was very pleasant, yes, but there were far too many limitations on his play.    
  
No longer.  
  
He’d need to replicate the various conditions the organics on Cybertron experienced. Certainly some of those conditions were very... creative.  And if some of the organics happened to die during the experimental procedures, that would be expected.  Brawl could be trusted to make sure there was no evidence of just *how* they’d extinguished.  
  
"There is apparently a high ranking scientist, beholden to Iacon, who will be arriving soon for a vacation of some sort.  He will be instructed by Iacon to assist us with analyzing the results when he arrives," Onslaught added.    
  
"How soon?" Vortex asked.    
  
"About five orn," Onslaught said.  
  
Just over two of the mudball's lunar rotations.  Plenty of time for some fun before he had to behave for the scientist.  
  
"I'll start drafting the experimental methodology," Vortex said, the picture of cooperation.  They'd each need to keep a group of the humans in their quarters, under simulated Cybertronian conditions.  
  
Vortex inwardly chuckled, thinking of Brawl with a tank of squishies in his quarters.  Vortex guessed that it’d take less than a joor before he ended up with twice as many squishies to play with.  
  
"Don't frag this up," Onslaught warned.    
  
As if.  Vortex cleaned up his messes, and they'd have an answer for Iacon by the end of it.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content: Mostly fluff, including bizarre Miles/Seaspray sexy-alien fluff with 'harvesting of resources'
> 
>  
> 
> [The portion of the galaxy our radio has reached.](http://www.geekosystem.com/human-radio-broadcasts/)

After a bit more than a week -- as near as he could figure -- Sam had just managed to learn his way around the ship. Not every passage and crack, of course, but good enough to generally get where he wanted to go. Hadn’t seemed like it’d be hard, really -- when they’d boarded, the main level had all been open space. But then they’d passed through the wormhole thing -- and Sam didn’t even want to *remember* that -- and the gravity had stabilized. And suddenly everyone started folding furniture down from wherever it’d been stored and putting up walls, separating space neatly into barracks and places to drink and labs or whatever, all of them open to the sea monster suspended above. 

Didn’t make much sense to Sam. Why go for privacy, when there was always a giant eyeball overhead? Maybe the robots just really liked organization -- he’d figured it was an obsession unique to Percy and Shockwave, but maybe not. 

The new configuration would've been fine, except things kept shifting. One day an area was apparently an open, commonly used space, and the next it had shifted into mech-sized cubicles. At least the "room" that Perceptor and Shockwave had claimed as a laboratory of sorts remained in the same location, even if the corridors and spaces around it shifted. Perceptor had thoughtfully set up an area for the humans in the corner, adding a roof with an air of exasperated fondness when Trent complained.

Planning to grab a bit of food cube and continue his explorations, Sam trotted into the lab and froze. Shockwave was taking something apart on the table, and that was normal enough. But to the right, the large bed-surface thing was occupied. By Seaspray, who was one of Oceanus’s little guys... and by a glittering cocoon writhing against his chest. 

Miles giggled from somewhere inside the lightly fluttering wrapping. Whatever it was, the stuff was the color of pearls and looked a little like ostrich feather plumes, or the tiny beating fronds that barnacles used to feed. 

The fuck?

Sam blinked and looked up at Shockwave, debating asking him what was going on. Perceptor's fellow scientist-housemate-buddy-whatever was just a bit intense. Sometimes it was better to wait for Perceptor, though that usually meant an hour long lecture with words even Webster would have to look up. 

"What are those things?" 

Shockwave adjusted his gaze to the berth, though he never stopped dismantling whatever was on the table. "I presume your imprecise question is intended to reference Seaspray's filter collection apparatus." 

Okaaaay.

Seaspray's long, spindly fingers, holding the end of a glowing plug extending from his chest, reached into the fronds and began making little circular, teasing motions.

The cocoon arched as Seaspray slowly, slowly inserted his plug. The fronds seemed to tighten, and Seaspray used his other hand to hold the writhing mass still.

Sam bit his lower lip and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I thought Percy said those the distillation guys only interfaced with their ajax. Cybertron's only monogamous mechs, or something." 

"Distillers and Aegis," Shockwave corrected. "Your logic is faulty. A Distiller’s monogamy extends only to other mecha, as additional partners would overwhelm his coded impulse to provide resources for his Aegis. In this case, Seaspray is simply collecting resources from his environment, and will process them into substances that are nominally useful to Oceanus." 

Sam rolled his eyes. Miles would totally get off on that. The more freakishly alien, the more it seemed to turn him on. 

"You are aroused," Shockwave noted. 

"You know, on Earth, pointing stuff like that out is considered impolite. Just sayin'." 

"Again, illogical. I find myself aroused as well. Which connector would you find most suitable this time?" 

Sam facepalmed, though he kept one eye on the scene on the bed. "Wh--why do you assume I'm gonna say yes?!"

This time Shockwave did adjust his gaze to briefly regard him, before Seaspray's buzzing-static keen and Miles' muffled 'OH GOD YES!' brought eyes and optic back to the other side of the room. 

"My predictions regarding this aspect of your behavior have been correct 98.736% of the time."

Sam suddenly found himself tingling everywhere. Fucker was flaring his field. "You are such a fucking bastard, you know that?"

Shockwave did not deign to answer. Which was also normal. He simply ignored the statements he considered to be too illogical to merit attention, rather than 'humoring' the organics, as he accused Perceptor of doing.

Miles gave another series muffled cries, and Sam saw the fronds quivering in the area where he assumed his friend's cock to be, bursts of color flaring and dancing as they... collected. 

"Give me the mid-sized one."

"Knobbed or smooth?"

"You're the one who can predict my behavior. You figure it out." 

 

\-------------

 

"Are you... mad at me?" Miles asked Perceptor, sounding bewildered as he looked up from his own reflection in the scientist’s plating. One minute, he’d been admiring the mech’s newest coat of wax -- stuff was nasty to apply, but he really liked the results -- and the next, Percy wanted him to avoid spending too much time with Oceanus. Like, what? 

"Of course not! I'm simply trying to express my concern about the impact of such a massive field on your systems, Miles. We do not know the effect that will have on your mitochondrial mutations. I might not be able provide adequate energy. You could become ill in my care.” Perceptor paused and seemed hesitant. “Unless, of course, you plan to stay with Oceanus once we reach your planet."

Miles cocked his head, his facial features shifting to a soft smile.

"Oh Percy. I'm not gonna leave you, dude. After all you've done for us? All we've been through together?"

The scientist was uncharacteristically silent. "Oceanus... made a request of me,” Perceptor finally admitted, spark churning. “He wished to... to invite you to remain with him and his cohort.” 

"Oh. Well... I..."

"You desire to stay with them," Perceptor stated, steeling himself.

"No," Miles said firmly, patting Perceptor’s chestplates. "No, Percy. I'd like to visit them sometimes, though. They're my friends. But dude, where you go, I go, 'kay?"

Perceptor felt a whine rising from his vocalizer. He vented hard. How did these creatures elicit such feelings from him?

"You know, for a four armed bug-eyed dude, you are really adorable when you're jealous." 

 

\---------

 

“Oh! Hey, uhm. Hi.”

Lost again. Or... maybe not. Sam was reasonably sure that just yesterday this spot had been an out-of-the-way corner with the best viewing window, and now it’d become a small barracks. One presently occupied by the yellow guy who kept kinda hanging around. “Sorry, I’ll just --”

“Oh, no problem at all. I was just resting before we land.” The yellow mech already seemed really comfortable with the language file. His voice was nice too, kinda young-sounding, like the guys back in highschool, but with a British accent. Where did he pick that up? Come to think of it, highschool was around the last time Sam’d really had the unfettered company of other people -- human people -- except for Miles and Trent. And he had to wonder about Miles, sometimes. “How are you, Sam?"

“Not bad, pretty excited. Land? We’re getting close, then?” Sam said, casting a yearning look at the broad slit of the gill-like window. 

“Yes. Well, relatively.” The mech sat up on his bunk, blunt yellow sensor panels perked high and interested as he followed Sam’s gaze. “We’re still about three days away. Anything out there look familiar?” 

Sam grinned, edged inside the barracks. “Don’t think I’d really recognize anything. Used to love astronomy, though. Had a sweet telescope, just a little one. Do you know... which one is Earth?” he asked hesitantly. 

The yellow mech’s eyes adjusted, almost like he was squinting -- like he was smiling behind that round mask thing. “Yes. Just a second -- here we go.” He reached out, and drew a datapad from the not-space that every big mech seemed to have. The thing was about the size and thickness of a poster, flexible but stiff, and the picture on it moved. There was a round little ship at the bottom and a tiny blue marble over a cheery yellow sun at the top; stars and wisps of dust floated in various places. 

“Wow,” despite himself, Sam crept closer for a better look. “This one must be Proxima Centauri. It’s supposed to be, like, four lightyears away from earth, if I remember right.” He reached out to touch a nearby pair of stars, one practically on top of the other. “And Alpha Cent-- woah.” The image zoomed in and expanded, two stars moving in a slow binary dance, each courted by a dozen colored orbs. A dim red sun circled the whole system, a strange and distant neighbor. “Are these *planets*?”

The yellow guy made the chirring sound that Sam associated with gentle amusement. “They are indeed. Twenty two, plus a number of moons and rocky objects in an elliptical orbit. Busy little system.”

Sam bit at his lip. “Does anybody live there?”

“None so advanced as you,” the yellow guy said, as the image gradually zoomed in a little more, the planets growing larger, obviously out of scale with the stars they circled. “This one has the most life.” He pointed at a ruddy-colored moon, circling a planet that traversed the brightest of the pair of stars. The image changed to a jagged, ruddy plain, cracked and drying under two bright suns -- one bright, and the other smaller, but still hundreds of times more luminous than earth’s moon. The plain was dotted with... very strange, thick-stalked flowers, all a brilliant blue-green. 

As Sam watched, the plants trembled, raising up -- and creatures backed out of their burrows. The plant-things were their bodies, apparently, except for a buried end with two disturbingly-jointed little arms and a weird... foot-pad-thing. Sam laughed when the first of the creatures launched himself into the low gravity. They looked like sproinging socks. “Is it like this all over that planet?” Sam asked, and watched enrapt while the yellow mech showed him all twenty-seven of the other species large enough to easily see. Then he made the screen interactive, so Sam could zoom in on the other planets -- crystalline or molten, cloaked in storms of tempestuous methane or simply barren rocks, covered pole to pole in dense mats of green lichen stuff, and many more. 

Finally, Sam leaned back, feet dangling over the edge of the yellow guy’s bed platform. He frowned. “Hey, so I feel kinda guilty -- I, uh, guess I never asked your name.”

The small mech smiled with his eyes again. He even looked young, with big cerulean eyes -- the way they were shaded made it seem like he had pupils, which just seemed *friendlier* than average, somehow -- and a compact face. “The first part of my name isn’t really a word I can translate. It is a small, striped creature. Although beneficial, they can bite if picked up or injured.” No mech who had experienced the resultant limb necrosis ever tried to do so twice.

“Oh, like bees! They’re yellow, too. Though I think they had stingers. We have little ones and bigger ones -- used to have. I really liked them.”

The yellow mech smiled. “That sounds like a great name for me. Tell me more about these bees?” 

\---

“Hmm, how strange.” Bumblebee looked up, cocking his head. 

“What is?” Sam asked, scrolling over the surface of the datapad.

“I think we just started hitting Earth’s communication transmissions.” 

“What? Like radio? And TV?” Sam scrunched his forehead. “How far away are we? What are they saying?”

“Simple radio frequencies only at this point. Still about thirty parsecs -- a couple hundred trillion miles.” Bumblebee looked back to Sam. “The ship can pick up very faint transmissions. So we’re hearing anything broadcast from Earth a little over a vorn ago -- a hundred years? Let me see here...” Bumblebee cleared his throat, an odd little electronic sound. And then, quietly, he began to play back a song, like his voice was a radio. Sam hadn’t realized that a mech could make his robot-voicebox-thing sound like anything other than himself, but he supposed it made sense. 

The song was laced with static, not all the words were clear. The first part of the tune was missing, and some of the rest was garbled. The melody faded out. It took a good minute for Sam to identify it. 

It was a Christmas song.

It was O Holy Night.

“Are you ok, Sam? Your optics are--”

“I know.” Sam scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. “I guess it’s just been a long time. Are... are you gonna be up for another couple joor? I gotta... I gotta go get the guys. They’re gonna want to hear this too.”

\-----

Perceptor glanced up at the hurried patter of human pedes. Helpfully, Shockwave pinned the struggling glitchmouse down while Perceptor was distracted. If they readied a selection of the creatures now, there would be less work to do once they reached earth, and began selecting their experimental organic substances. “Are you well, Miles?”

“Yeah! I just gotta get some blankets. We’re having a sleepover with the yellow guy. He let us name him Bumblebee!” 

Perceptor frowned -- while he hoped their undeniably famous guard would become friendly with the humans in general, it was certainly not necessary to become friendly with *Perceptor’s* humans. Miles continued. “Oh hey, I wanted to ask -- how fast are we going?” 

Perceptor blinked and folded away the soldering prod he’d been using. “I must return your question for further explanation, Miles: by what inertial rest frame do you wish to measure speed? From the universal theoretical centrus, we are moving at approximately twelve-point-three quadrillion cubits per astrosecond, increasing to...”

“Nah,” interrupted Miles, digging through his travel cube with such vigor he nearly tumbled in. “I mean, how much closer to earth? In, uhm, light years.” 

“Through what medium do you wish to measure the speed of light?” Shockwave asked, tilting his helm, intrigued. 

“Empty space!” 

Well now, that changed the equation considerably. “Accounting for the localized variances in the fabric of space-time, we travel approximately one light-year closer to your planet every fifty-three-point-two of your minutes,” Perceptor supplied, performing the simple calculation for the human and rounding to a mere one decimal. 

“Woah.” Miles’s optics were large and very round. “So we’re going faster than light?” 

“Negative.” Perceptor’s optics gleamed; he could not let such a statement long stand. “This ship employs a simple ramdrive to exploit Overhaul ripples and the negative mass warp effect of--”

“Warp speed!” Miles looked up, delighted. “A lightyear an hour -- is this a fast ship?”

“Ramdrive; fifty-three minutes,” Shockwave glowered. If a laboratory technician had misstated a value by an entire ten percent, he’d have been demoted to solution preparation on the spot. But Shockwave had learned, much to his displeasure, that one could not expect such precision from humans.

“And no, it is among the slowest classes of transport,” Perceptor added. Was the human becoming irate with the laggardly progress? Did he recall how long the journey to Cybertron had taken? Humans dumped memory stacks unexpectedly, and often. “Additionally, we employed one of the large space bridges, rather than the more common, smaller ones. This requires us to travel further.” Perceptor cast a quick glance at Shockwave, aware that he was reducing the underlying concepts to a nearly absurd degree. “Approximately speaking.” 

Shockwave could not contain himself. “A gross simplification of the underlying physics. The ship is not ‘slow’, nor does ‘further’ have any relevance during Overhaul ripple skips.”

“As stated, I was both simplifying and approximating,” Perceptor defended. “Additionally, if one adopts the HiddenVariable theoreme of stochastic mechanics, then--”

“HiddenVariable!”

“Indeed. While misguided in other respects, HiddenVariable’s projections regarding the metric and topological fluctuation of space-time fabric are well understood to be....”

“Bye, guys!” Miles went staggering by, beneath a hefty armload of blankets. 

 

\---

 

A “couple of joor” of Bumblebee’s radio turned into more than a cycle, and the humans showed no sign of relenting. They had even asked to recharge in his room so that they didn’t miss anything.

“No, definitely no Hitler,” Trent stoutly maintained. 

“It is a very clear transmission,” Bumblebee begged to differ. The humans seemed to favor broadcasts with less white noise, he’d learned. Not that amplitude-modulated radio was very conductive to that; it was a horribly inefficient means of communications. The signal was just a single set of information, limited in its depth by the frequency of the carrier wave, with absolutely no inherent error correction structures. He’d had to write a noise reduction filter on the fly, plus compensate for the blue-shift as they were rapidly nearing Earth, and even then he could only do so much.

“Can you play ‘Yes, We Have No Bananas’ again? But skip the first part, it’s boring.” asked Miles, apparently not yearning for Hitler overmuch, either.

“Dude, that’s hella racist. All that accents and bagels and lox shit.” 

“Well, everything back then was racist.” Miles shrugged. “Besides, we all liked Lili Marleen.”

Bumblebee began to feel like he had missed an important part of the conversation, and he wasn’t even sure what it might be.

“‘Rhapsody in Blue’, or some more Strauss!” Sam said, then cast a sidelong glance at the other two organics. “Wow, never thought I’d say that. Uhm, what about ‘Ain’t Misbehavin’’ again?”

“The BBC!”

“No.” Trent crossed his arms. “You still got ‘Let Me Call You Sweetheart’? The barbershop quartet one?”

“But that was, like, all the way back this morning! It’s all crackly and stuff!”

The humans’ tastes were simply unfathomable.

He was going to wear out his vocalizer, at this rate.

Eventually, the humans were forced into recharge, piled up at one end of Bumblebee’s berth and wrapped in the same microfibers they used on mecha. And when they awoke, there was Nat King Cole, Bing Crosby, and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. 

Bumblebee didn’t think much of that last artist, but the humans insisted on singing along, anyway.

The number and variety of music increased exponentially. Around the period of ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus’, Bumblebee was processing hundreds of broadcasts at a time. The ship’s speed meant that he received an orn’s worth of sendings within just one klik. And the earth humans seemed to have rapidly increased their wireless sendings -- there were *thousands* as they reached ‘Goodnight Irene’, less than two cycles after that first single broadcast. Dozens of other languages began to crowd into the domain once dominated by English. 

It was all a great deal of information for one small infiltrator to process -- especially since he did not possess the specialized hardware of frame types modeled for such huge data volumes. At least the humans seemed to prefer music in their own language, so Bumblebee could simply discard a great deal. And he got a few breem of rest periodically, as he hit upon a song the humans preferred. 

They asked him to play ‘Heartbreak Hotel ’ four times, warbling along with. ‘A Big Hunk ‘O Love’ had them wriggling and tapping their pedes against Bumblebee’s berth. And then Bumblebee played ‘Jailhouse Rock’. The Miles human was the first to leap up, legs undergoing some manner of spasm. Worried, Bumblebee reached out to steady the little organic, but Miles went wobbling and hop-jumping away, apparently under his own power. “Hey, hey! Do you have the one that goes ‘you ain't nothin' but a hound dog’, yet? Play that one too! After this one, yeah!”

Bumblebee parsed through the mismash of discordant radio signals picked up by the ship. He hadn’t been framed for sorting such large datasets, but in a way, the overlapping transmissions were much like the chaos of battle. And he was very good at detecting a faintly whispered code, a single thread of intel, among a cataract of other input. He found ‘Hound Dog’ soon enough. 

“Wooooaaah, you ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog -- haha, dance with me!” Sam leaped up and began suffering the same disturbing-looking convulsions, kneejoints going in every direction but the way they were meant to bend, pelvis jerking forward and back. This -- this was dance? “Weeeellll, you ain't never caught a rabbit, and you ain’t no friend of mine! Come on Trent!”

Grumbling, Trent swung himself off the edge of the low berth. “Asshats,” he muttered, but began having the same seizure. 

Primus below. If this contagion spread so easily, no wonder the humans were having difficulty surviving. How did they feed themselves, Bumblebee wondered? 

“Whheeeen they said you was high classed -- Bumblebee, dance with us!” 

Was this a ritual, meant to attract these ‘rabbits’? Or to ward them off? Bumblebee stood uncertainly. 

“Weeeell, that was just a lie! Yeah, like this! Dance! Yeah, dance!” The humans’ piping, organic voices rose up. Bumblebee could certainly dance, in a variety of styles both formal and otherwise. None resembled this. But, mapping the humans’ movements carefully, Bumblebee threw his chassis gamely into his best approximation of the humans’ spasms, and did his best to keep up. 

“Yeaaah, you ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog!” The music was, Bumblebee had to admit, strangely gripping. 

He was also very careful to initiate and target his tactical positioning computer. The humans were fast, and erratic -- Bumblebee had never inadvertently stepped on and crushed an employer before, and he didn’t intend to start now.

 

\--

 

“Oh my god,” Trent nearly dropped the platter of small organic fuel cubes. The little human’s scent was sharper, more edged with ozone now than when Perceptor had come to collect him a joor ago. “You guys hit the sixties without me? Bastards!”

Bumblebee was uncertain as to what the humans’ creators’ marital status had to do with anything at all, but neither of the other organics seemed to be listening. And he was too busy dancing. “Come on baby, let’s do the twist!” howled Miles, in rough cadence with the music, meanwhile gyrating his frame in a manner that even Bumblebee found impressive. These organics were flexible little beasts. “Yeah, twist, baby, baee-baaay!”

The humans’ version of ‘dance’ certainly did give the gyros a good workout, he had to admit. Bumblebee waved cheerfully at a ship’s crewmember who had stopped to peer into the open hatch. The yellow infiltrator couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen such wide optics on a mech.

Sam cackled with laughter, supplying the chorus. “Round and around and around!”

“Come on little miss -- let’s do the twist!”

 

\----------

 

“Oh my God, I can’t believe we get to watch this. And from up here!” Sam grinned up at Bumblebee, who returned a facial gesture that mimicked the same delight. Earth filled the front viewing window, a radiant blue orb that gleamed in the light of a yellow sun, great storms no more than pale marbling wisps across its surface. 

Beside them in the front command booth, the pilot -- a silvery blue mech -- was busy attending to final checks and sequences, his sensor wings perked high. Mecha below folded up all the walls and furniture, turning the main floor once again into a huge open space. One by one, they filtered up the front ramp, crowding into the pilot’s cabin. Sam figured they wanted to see, too -- it was one helluva view. 

They’d already dropped out of warp speed, but even still, Earth got visibly bigger -- closer -- with every passing minute. Sam could hardly sit still. “Where are we landing?” he asked finally. 

Bumblebee pointed. “We’ll be dealing with Iacon’s protectorate territory, so that means this landmass, here, someplace close enough to the ocean for Oceanius and the Vosians to disembark.” 

Sam twisted to cast a glance back at the main bay, and shared a dubious look with Trent and Miles. How were they going to get something as big as Oceanus down from there?

“Hope it’s someplace warm,” said Trent, “someplace we can get some sugarcane. And beef.”

“Sugarcane -- oh, oh! And chocolate! Cornbread!” 

The humans jostled one another and traded favorite foods and insults while watching Earth draw nearer, and an hour passed quickly. Then something rumbled through the ship, leaving the humans clutching at the seat all three of them shared.

Bumblebee reached out to steady the mech-sized chair. “They’re swinging the big rockets around, to kill speed. Should keep the skin of the transport from heating too much on entry into the atmosphere.”

Ribbons of fire began to curl past the forcefield windows, just a few at first, then more, until it seemed like the whole ship would surely burn up. Ground drew closer with frightening speed, and now Sam could pick out individual mountains, the sprawling glow of scattered enclaves as they veered briefly through the planet’s sunrise. 

And then they were leveling out, flames lost behind them, thundering just a few thousand feet over rippled sea and sandy land. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Sam breathed, watching coves and bays flash by to the left. “Can we just -- what about there?” Sam said, pointing to sandy stretch along the craggy coastline. “We could land there.”

The pilot gave him a friendly glance. Between Oceanus, the dancing, and the organic interface toys running free, this had already been the weirdest run he'd ever made. Wouldn’t mind picking up one of the humans for himself, come to think of it. “We need a spot where the ocean floor drops off steeply. An underwater cliff, with shallow water on top. Oceanus gets unloaded first.”

Their speed kept dropping, bleeding away in the thick atmosphere. At long last, the pilot found a suitable spot. They slowed, switching to antigravs. The ponderous ship hung just over the waves, then splashed down, water slapping at its sides, steam billowing up from the shuttle’s hot skin. Sam winced as the ship rocked, bumped, and then settled into sand and stone with a crunch. 

“Exchanging atmosphere--” the pilot said, and something began to hiss. The crowded mecha looked up from their own affairs, suddenly interested. “--and engaging solidfloor. Everybody off?” The pilot leaned forward and passed a finger over a glowing panel. With the subtle popping sound of a million mouths closing, the grill down on the main floor just closed, turning the separator between cargo and mechs into a solid, slick sheet. It looked watertight, and Sam sincerely hoped it was, because the huge bay doors in the back bleeped, and then began to roll open.

A tidal wave of seawater crashed in, flooding the level on which so many mechs had spent the past couple of weeks. Sunlight -- real goddamn sunlight -- illuminated the crashing water, the sea froth. And, God, the air, the *breeze*.... salt and sand and humidity, sweeter than a Siren’s call, the scent of the planet and of home. No more funky breathing masks!

The doors just kept opening, letting in more water until it lapped up to the control room ramp. Bits of seaweed clung to the walls of the hold. The whole of the ship settled deeper into the sand with the weight of it. And then the entire ship rocked again as Oceanus moved. It was hardly a twitch, but the cranes and cables swayed, creaked alarmingly. “Gimme a klik, big guy,” the pilot murmured, clicking another few toggles.

The cranes and mechanisms began to lower, gears as big as a mech groaning with the strain as they moved Oceanus’ vast frame downward. 

Pale blue and aquamarine washed over the massive sea serpent’s frame, a mimicry of the ocean that seemed almost desperately anticipatory. Rudder fins folded flat to his sides, stirring the salt air. The atlantus-former seemed even bigger, closer up like this, just unthinkably huge. A third of his length, Sam could see now, had been twisted, bound tightly to his side by the huge cranes. His tail? God, Oceanus must be even bigger than he’d thought -- and stuck like that for a solid two weeks, at least!

The front part of Oceanus’ head... region dipped into the saltwater, immersing several of his glowing cerulean eyes. The whole ship shivered along with the atlantus-former, and the pilot cursed as one of the torso-thick supporting cables just gave way, metal parting with a shearing twang, whipping against the sides of the ship and Oceanus’ bulk. 

The pilot barked a sharp bleeping sound; Sam would’ve bet his best pair of pants that it was a profanity. “Hold on! Releasing now!” the pilot shouted back, hit a few more controls, and then engaged a lever. The cables clinked, huge clamps unhooking themselves a pair a time, the thick metal braids falling down from the ceiling like threads that had been cut. With a tidal wave splash, Oceanus’s massive forebody sank down. Sam could feel the entire ship ring with the impact as the huge mech’s underside hit the deck. Even Sam, despite his high vantage point, got splashed with sea water.

Oceanus moved cautiously like a half-beached whale, trying to wriggle forward to get into deeper water. But the loose cables -- each of them as thick as Sam’s torso -- were still caught around and on top of the mech, and it didn’t look to Sam as if Oceanus was making much headway in getting himself free. Even his smallest twitches rocked the ship.

Then all of a sudden, Seaspray surfaced next to the huge mech, and Sam heard Miles inhale sharply. The Distiller was so tiny compared to the ocean giant, even if the merman-like form he had transformed into had to be at least three times as long as a human. One thoughtless twitch from Oceanus, and Seaspray could be a smear on the hangar wall, or horribly injured by the loose, flailing metal cables. But, miraculously, the huge mech calmed, and let Seaspray -- and Littoral and Wavefront and all the other Distillers, Sam gradually realized -- work around him. They untangled Oceanus just a few minutes, half of them swimming around the mech, half transforming their merman appendages back to proper legs and walking on top of him.

Finally, with a groan so deep that Sam felt it in his chest, the ocean giant slid free. One, two small undulations of his huge serpent-like body, and Oceanus finally moved forward, water sloshing and thundering in the hangar. The steep downwards tilt of the ship helped him glide, and the scrape of Oceanus’s tail as he unfolded it assisted as well. Then his head dipped down into open ocean, and the atlantus former hooked a massive fin on the creaking doorframe. With a mighty heave that had the entire ship groaning and probably shaved off quite the layer of paint nanites on his stomach, Oceanus hauled himself out.

The front of the ship rose alarmingly, then plunged back down again, buoyed on the massive wave of Oceanus’s passage. Perceptor and Bumblebee both scooped up humans before they could tumble about; none of the mechs seemed to have trouble keeping their balance. Whooping like mad things, the Distillers launched themselves from the upraised edge of the ramp, plunging down into the whirlpool left in the wake of their Aegis. 

The wave lifted the entire ship, slid it forward to grate and bump across the sand before the pilot could regain a degree of control and lift them up. Water drained in a thundering cataract from the rear of the ship -- Sam clung to the fingers holding him, craning his neck to see. Brilliant torpedos of every color darted and leaped -- the Distillers -- and *there*, a vast shadow, surfacing... and expanding. 

Unfolding.

Oceanus, it seemed, was even bigger than they’d thought. 

Whole plates buckled and rose up, spreading like Oceanus was shaking off his stony sleep, settling into new configurations. His fins spread around his streamlined body, a glory of aquamarine and silver. 

He unfolded, growing bigger and bigger, until he was maybe even larger than an entire aircraft carrier. That was all Sam could see from above; he didn’t know how much farther Oceanus stretched below the waves -- but the atlantus former was at least as big as the ship that had brought him here. His back was flat like an aircraft carrier, too -- like a long landing strip, flanked on either side by a pair of dorsal fins that arched up and out of the water at an angle, enormous sails perhaps, or massive sensory spreads. The whole of his back dipped beneath the surface for a moment, and then Oceanus *vented*, expelling the water that had filled his internal halls and rooms during transformation, raising a plume that surely rose half a mile. 

“...We’re gonna visit them, right?” Miles asked Perceptor plaintively, waving at the cavorting mecha as the rear doors of the ship slowly rolled closed, and the ship stabilized midair, drifting gently forward on antigravs.

“Of course!” said Perceptor. “Oceanus houses this planet’s most advanced scientific and communications equipment; our research will undoubtedly require periodic reporting and analysis.” Not too frequently, of course, until he knew what long exposure to the Atlantusformer’s fields would do to humans. But... sometimes. 

The pilot grinned. “Not to worry, kid. Gonna take us an orn or three to unload everything else. Oceanus won’t go far. We’re setting up shop... right... here.” And with a rumble, the ship touched down atop a low cliff, in a rolling field of seaside grass, flecked with the tiny flowers of early spring.

**Author's Note:**

> More on Aegis mecha and their Distillers can be found in the story [Aegis](http://archiveofourown.org/works/442962/chapters/756916).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Deep Space](https://archiveofourown.org/works/780585) by [Not_You](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You)
  * [Seaspray's New Friend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531865) by [sphinx01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphinx01/pseuds/sphinx01)




End file.
